


Only You

by Primarina (PastelBrachypelma)



Category: Game Grumps
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Dom/sub Undertones, Emetophobia, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Sad Danny, Sad with a Happy Ending, Sexual Assault, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-03 20:44:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelBrachypelma/pseuds/Primarina
Summary: "He was Danny Sexbang, after all. Up for anything, up for being touched and touching. Danny never said no when it came to sexual encounters."The aftermath of the cup-grabbing incident was far from the easy laugh it was portrayed to be.





	Only You

**Author's Note:**

> So, yes, this story is marked "NonCon" and has a "Sexual Assault" tag, but the cup grab is the only reason for that, and it is barely mentioned. No need to worry...beyond that, anyway.

Afterwards, he would laugh about it, brush it off like it was nothing.

He was Danny Sexbang, after all. Up for anything, up for being touched and touching. Danny never said no when it came to sexual encounters.

So a fan grabbing at his genitals shouldn’t be such a big thing, right? Nah, it shouldn’t be. He was even wearing a cup! (Mostly because Doctor Sung had recommended it, but also because thongs just couldn’t contain Excalibur during the set, even if he doubled up with underwear over the Spandex catsuit. Wasn’t his fault Excalibur had a mind of his own!)

He’d been able to tamp down the panic, horror, and sorrow in the moment, swallow it down to let it fester in his stomach to be addressed later. And if he acted a bit like a chicken without a head for the rest of the show, the audience wouldn’t know the difference. 

He was a good actor. He could play the part.

He could pretend he didn’t feel like an object. He could pretend he didn’t feel violated. 

He could pretend like it didn’t bother him that the only person to touch that part of him in months (besides himself and maybe the back of Brian’s or Meouch’s hands if they brushed up against each other during the show) was Arin. Arin, who had made it very clear that Dan—all of Dan—belonged to him, and to him alone.

Dan liked it. He’d always been a people pleaser, and seeing the physical signs of Arin getting rough with him, acting possessive even when he was the one sucking dick or getting fucked, that…that was fucking hot. Usually, even just thinking about that fond-but-fierce look Arin got on his face when he called Dan “mine” would make Excalibur twitch to life in his pants…

But that feeling of violation, that the privilege of getting to touch Excalibur didn’t belong to just himself and Arin anymore, that some random person—a fan, no less; someone he had trusted with his happiness and the soul that was present in his music (yes, even the songs about dicks had heart in there somewhere)—stuck with him, made him anxious. So much so that, by the end of the show, he felt like he’d swallowed a bowling ball. His stomach felt bloated and swollen, and he was on the verge of being physically ill, shaking so badly that Haave Hogan actually lent Dan his sweatshirt for the walk back to the hotel.

He and Arin were sharing a hotel room, but Arin wasn’t there when Dan arrived. Probably talking to Brian, or Brent, or off calling Suzy, telling her how the show went. Arin hadn’t been on stage during the…incident, and Dan was glad for it.

He should be sitting with his humidifier. He should be taking care of his voice. He should, reasonably, be having a protein bar, getting some much-needed calories into his system after burning a hole through his dinner.

Instead, he fell to the floor in the bathroom, barely able to push up the toilet seat before he began to vomit. Water and bile and bits of undigested food flowed out of him, no doubt scratching up his throat enough to warrant several dozen throat lozenges and ten cups of tea during the journey to the next city on the bus tomorrow, but he didn’t care. He didn’t even care that he was going to have pancakes—his go-to comfort food—for breakfast tomorrow, and everyone who knew him well enough would wonder what happened.

After he was finished vomiting, and the only thing he could do was dry-heave, he began to cry. His stomach hurt, and his groin hurt from the harsh grab, the scrape of the cup against his balls and perineum, and he didn’t want to think about Arin touching it. He didn’t even want to think about touching it. If he wasn’t in pain, he would’ve thought it was detached, separate from his body, taken away from him by one selfish act he’d no doubt have to laugh away later.

He spit into the toilet, dry-heaving again just at the thought of the response he’d have to write out on Instagram about it. He’d have to pretend it was funny, like a joke, when it wasn’t funny at all.

He finally empathized with the women who were angry about Donald Trump’s “grab her by the pussy” comments.

The hotel room door opened. Dan froze, barely breathing, on the floor of the bathroom. He’d closed the door, yes. Had he locked it?

“Dan?” Arin’s query felt too loud to his ears. Dan didn’t feel quite himself. He felt like he’d just woken up from a sleep paralysis dream. He could feel his limbs, but yet, they didn’t feel like his. He couldn’t make them move, could only sense they were connected to him.

“Dan?” The knob on the bathroom door turned. Okay, he hadn’t locked it, then. Dan shifted with agonizing slowness, lifting his head like it weighed a hundred pounds.

Arin looked adorable wearing a Starbomb tee shirt and gray harem pants, hair still damp (from a wash or from sweat? Dan couldn’t tell), pulled back in a messy ponytail, strands falling to frame his face in clumps. The singer’s heart clenched hard in his chest, and he felt a banked sob shiver through his chest.

Arin wrinkled his nose. “Were you sick, buddy?” He asked, crossing the room to flush the toilet. He was using the same voice he used to talk to the cats. It was frustratingly endearing. “Something from the diner disagree with you? Huh?” He sat beside Dan, folding his legs up underneath him, sitting on his cheap Walmart flip flops, which were already beginning to show wear, molding to the shape of his feet.

Dan shook his head, eyes on his lap. He scrubbed at his eyes like a child. How he hadn’t managed to get any barf at all on his curls was something of a miracle, given the sheer volume of them.

Arin was smiling comfortingly. Dan could tell, even though he couldn’t see. Arin reached out to place a hand on his knee, but Dan, nervous, shuffled away, and Arin withdrew. 

“Did you…” Arin began, carefully. “Did you…make yourself sick?” He must’ve been listing causes in his head, going down a mental list.

Again, Dan shook his head. He had no reason to go down that road.

“Flu? Was there too much weed at the concert? I could smell it from backstage.”

Even though he was trembling, frightened and feeling like a one-man island, Dan had to get Arin to just stop talking. He usually loved to hear Arin speak, but it was getting to be a bit much, and the hysterical tone Arin was trying hard to hide was washing over him like ice water.

He looked up resolutely at Arin, tears already filling his eyes again as the words fell from his lips with the same force as vomiting took. “Someone touched me.”

Arin opened his mouth and closed it again like a fish. Dan went on.

“A-and not like…someone touched me. Grabed me. Tried to g-grope me. I…I was wearing a cup, so they didn’t really get to touch skin…it took me b-by surprise, a-and…” He stopped babbling abruptly, shivering in the cool of the hotel bathroom. His system always seemed to crash after a vomiting fit, and he was suddenly shaking uncontrollably, his entire body rattling, the world breaking down around him. He clutched around him, but he’d discarded Haave Hogan’s sweatshirt, which was probably a wise decision, given how the rest of the evening turned out.

Strong arms pulled him in until he was braced against a broad, warm chest, a soft tee shirt brushing against his neck, familiar cyan, yellow, and magenta in the corner of his eye. He wrapped his arms tightly around Arin, burrowing into his neck as he began to cry again, his sobs quieter, more sincere, a muted despair. And Arin held him tight, hand in his hair, the other across his back, running his thumb gently across his ribs.

Once Dan could breathe again, he nosed his way out of the intense heat of their bodies lying crushed together, breathing wetly into his sleeve. Arin began to move away, to give him room, let him cool off, but Dan tightened his grip, refused to let go. “Stop,” he murmured, voice broken. “Don’t let go…okay?”

Arin pressed a kiss into Danny’s curls. Dan could feel the bristles of his beard against his scalp. “I won’t. I promise.”

Dan let out a shaky breath and shifted further until he was fully seated in Arin’s lap. Tomorrow, they’d talk about it, wrapped tightly in each other’s arms. Arin would kiss him, help begin the healing by taking Excalibur in hand. They’d move together in unison, and Arin would whisper “mine” until Danny came between them.

Tomorrow, Arin would ply Dan with cups of tea and silver dollar pancakes from the hotel buffet, and help Dan write the Instagram post that would set the minds of fans at ease. Tomorrow, they’d spend the bus ride curled up together in a bunk, enjoying the smell of each other in relative darkness as the world flew by outside. Tomorrow, Arin would squeeze him so tight that the anxiety and fear would begin to flow out of him, like a deflating balloon.

Tonight, well. Tonight, Arin would rock him gently in his arms, tuck him into bed, and hold him so close that they were almost one being.

And that would be enough for Danny Sexbang. Just this once.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this piece by gaygrumpart: https://gaygrumpart.tumblr.com/post/171223834685/request-filled-for-thedemonwholovesart-may-i
> 
> I felt guilty because I wasn't being a good friend to him, so I hope this makes up for me being a self-centered piece of shit. Love you, Donovan! <3


End file.
